Harmatia
by Bolinlover123
Summary: My response to the latest Book 3 still. In other words, the fate of Scarfie. One-shot. "-I'll take it." Bolin says. It's not a choice. It's a promise. The man shrugs, "Okay, kid. It's your money." It looks like a piece of crap, but Bolin knows it's the best damn ten yuans he's ever spent.


_This scarf was my father's, and it's all I have left of him...And, I just feel like-like it keeps me safe._

_..._

"Are you sure you want this dingy thing?" the salesmen asks, "It's practically falling apart."

And it is, Bolin sees, as he rubs the faded red fabric between his fingers. But not dingy enough. He'll have to fix that.

"I mean," there goes the selling smile and smooth money-making voice, "If you'll come with me, I'm sure I can help you find something much more nice and-"

"-I'll take it." Bolin says. It's not a choice. It's a promise.

The man shrugs, "Okay, kid. It's your money." The red fabric goes into the bag, and yuans are exchanged.

_The best ten yuans I ever spent,_ the paper bag crinkles under his sweaty palms. Bolin takes a deep breath, and makes to leave, bidding the man a good day.

"Hey, kid!" Bolin pauses, and turns. The man rubs his neck. "You seem like a good kid. Just...take care all right?"

Bolin blinks. Even now, years later, he isn't used to strangers actually..._caring. _Maybe it's because, for once, he feels as sad as he looks.

And maybe it is also due to the fact that, practically every person he has met in the past year, had tried to manipulate and hurt him and his friends in some way. Who could blame him for growing a bit weary?

Bolin nods. "Thanks, sir. You, too." The bells dings on his way out, and Bolin makes a hasty walk back to his apartment.

_Gotta do this good, and gotta do this fast._

...

Bolin is grateful for all the experience he's had stitching up clothes, as he examines his work before him. He makes two, three-inch cuts into an end; the more frayed, the better. The original was earned when Mako hopped a wire fence when he was ten, and it got caught on the metal. It nearly choked him; Bolin remembers how Mako went splaying to the ground, dust flying, and Mako's wide, panic-filled eyes looking at the rip, as if it were a bleeding wound.

Bolin dabs mud with his finger, along the middle part. No one ever noticed, but the part that always got folded over, was victim to his early bending manifestations. The stain never came out, no matter how hard Mako scrubbed. Not that the firebender ever complained.

A few more minutes pass, and Bolin cuts another tiny hole, and adds a bit more mud. He lets it all dry, and surveys his work, holding it up to the light, both ends in his slightly-shaky hands.

"So, what'cha think, Pabu? Good enough?" The ferret just wines and crawls under the couch.

Bolin blows a puff of air out of his cheeks, with a pop. This seems like a form of betrayal, for some reason. "Well," he sighs, "It'll have to do."

...

This has to be convenient, but not too convenient. It's got to be well played.

_Sell it, Bolin. Make it happen. Do it for Mako._

_You can hate yourself later, just do this for Mako_.

He knocks on his brother's apartment. Once. Twice.

He waits a whole minute in silence, and almost backs out. He tells himself Mako isn't home. Says this is wrong. _Lying is wrong, Bolin-_

The door opens, and a damp-haired, t-shirt clad Mako appears in the threshold.

"Hey, Bo. Sorry, I was in the shower." Mako steps aside so he can enter. "What's up?"

Bolin swallows, his throat closing. "I..."

Damn it, he practiced this in front of the mirror for twenty minutes. His whole acting career just went down the tube in the matter of a second.

He swallows again. Why are his eyes stinging? _Damn it. _

"Bo?" Mako frowns, "You okay, bro?."

Yes, actually, maybe he is. Maybe this is okay. _Go with the feelings, Bolin, _Verrick's voice says in his mind, _When in doubt: improvise! Make it work!_

Bolin clears his throat.

_For Mako._

"Am I okay?! I'm better than okay! Bro, you'll _never_ guess what I found!" he takes the bundle out of his pocket and unfolds it.

Mako stares at it for a minute, his face barely processing. Then, slowly...

"Is...is that my...?"

Bolin nods, the self-hating tears in his eyes being used to their full effect. "It is, bro! I found your scarf! Isn't that great? Look!" and he thrusts it at Mako's chest, almost too eagerly. "It's just like how you left it! Not one tear out of place." _Sniff. Sniff._

Mako's mouth hangs open, "B-bolin...H-how did you-? I can't believe- _Where did you find it?"_

"-Don't thank me. It doesn't matter where I found it. Just know I'm the best lil' bro _ever!" _And he begins to wrap the faded, dingy, red fabric around his brothers strong, brave, selfless shoulders. "T-there we go..." Bolin pats his shoulder, "It's like it never left."

And Mako is looking at him, and now Mako is crying, and Mako/ doesn't/cry. Mako hasn't cried since he can ever remember, but he made Mako cry, and now _he's_ crying and-

Hugging. Mako is hugging him. They are hugging. And yes, _oh, yes,_ he hates himself right now, but not as much as he will when Mako will declare to Korra and Asami, how the best lil' bro in the world found his most treasured possession from their late father, how he is so happy now when he has been sulking for a week.

"I love you, lil' bro. So much."

Yes, he will hate himself more than anyone can know, but Mako is smiling, and hugging him, and crying.

Mako is happy again. He gave Mako an eight-year old's hope again, and that is all that matters.

"I love you back, big bro."


End file.
